Last Call
by Natchez
Summary: Following the "Alabama Sugar" timeline, my take on how Andy got sober. Andy/OC.
1. Prologue: Hello, Trouble

**A/N:** This is one that's been brewing for some while, now. It's my take on how Andy got sober. It follows the "Alabama Sugar" timeline, so it doesn't quite match up with Andy's 14 years of sobriety on the show. So, I guess you could call it mildly AU. Please read and enjoy! Ohh- and R&R!

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><p><strong>Prologue: Hello, Trouble<strong>

_August, 1998_

No one can give the exact reason, but every cop knows that crime goes up with the temperature. When it's hot outside, everything starts to happen. There are more rapes, more domestic violence cases, more burglaries — and more murders.

When Detective Andy Flynn walked out of the Hollywood division station of the LAPD, all he wanted was a cold beer or four and some sleep. He had been out most of the day and previous night on a stakeout at the home of a murder suspect. Man, could he go for an ice-cold six-pack right about now. But he had to get to a bar on Hollywood Boulevard and see if anyone had seen the victim the night his throat was slit.

Andy was familiar with the place, as he was with most of the clubs in the Hollywood area, both professionally and personally. This bar had an official name, but the guy who owned it was named Tucker, so everyone called it "Tucker's place." Inside, Andy relished the relative cool and the dim light was a welcome change from the glare of the L.A. sun. It was nearly sundown now, and he was glad. The light of these long summer days always started to get to him after a couple of months.

Since he was officially still on duty, Andy couldn't indulge his desire for a cold beer, but he could look around at the clientele. This was one of "his" haunts and one of the women at the bar looked familiar. She was a blonde with a great body and legs that wouldn't quit. He had seen her in here before, but she was always with someone. Andy preferred women who were alone. He could wheedle a girl away from her date – had done it on occasion – but normally, it was just too much trouble for the payoff.

But tonight, the blonde was alone and Andy actually had a legitimate question for her. He took his photo of the victim and eased up to her at the bar.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm Detective Andy Flynn, LAPD, and I'd like to know if you could help me out."

The blonde turned to look at the man speaking to her. Men always hit on her, so she was used to it. However, this guy didn't have the air of someone doing any "hitting." He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair, graying at the temples, and eyes that might be dark brown or even black. It was hard to tell in this light. He looked like he might be curious, maybe, but not really anything else. He wore khaki slacks and a navy polo shirt. She glanced to his waist and sure enough, there was a badge.

"Chloe Duncan, Detective. What can I do for you?"

"Are you in here on a regular basis?"

"Couple of times a week. Why?"

Andy slid the photo across the bar. "Do you remember seeing this guy in here on Wednesday?"

"Gene? Yeah. He was here."

"Do you remember seeing him leave with anyone, or did he maybe have a fight with someone? Anything weird?"

"I think he left with some guy. Lots of tattoos and piercings, y'know? Not usually who comes in here."

"Did you hear them argue or anything like that?"

"Nah. They just left together."

"Do you remember what time this was?"

"Oh, I don't know. It was middle of the sixth inning of the Dodgers game, so nine or so?"

Andy grinned at her. "That's great. Helps a lot." He put the photo in his back pocket and said. "Now that I'm off duty, can I buy you a drink?"

Chloe looked the man up and down. If he was fishing, she might be amenable to being caught. For the evening, anyway. "Sure. Gin and tonic." Andy gestured to the bartender and placed her order.

"Bud Light. Coldest one you've got," he said.

The bartender brought the drinks and Andy took a long swallow. "That hits the spot," he said. "I've wanted one all day. Too damn hot out there."

"So it's true what they say about the crime rate going up when it's hot?" Chloe said.

He nodded. "It's true. If the weatherman says there's a heat wave on the way, we get ready. Never fails. Thirteen years on the force and I can tell you it never fails."

"Why is that, you think?" she asked.

"Who knows? People get hot, their air-conditioning quits working, they get pissed and start shooting each other. That may be one reason." Andy finished his beer and thought about ordering another, but remembered he had to drive himself home. He glanced at Chloe Duncan. She was a beautiful woman. Chloe saw Andy's gaze turn a little predatory and felt a little fire spark in her blood. She waited for him to make a move, but all he did was pay for their drinks and fish his car keys from his pocket. Had she misread what she saw in his face? She really didn't know.

"Thanks for the drink, Detective," Chloe said.

"Sure thing," he answered.

"Heading home?" she asked, testing the waters.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, unless I find a reason to go somewhere else."

"I haven't had dinner yet. Have you?"

Andy shrugged. "Not really that hungry."

Damn. He was not making this easy, Chloe thought.

Andy, on the other hand, could almost see what was going through this woman's mind. She wanted him to make the moves, but he wasn't going to play it that way. Leave the bait out long enough, and eventually, you'll catch what you were hunting for. So, he kept his answers non-committal, but certainly open-ended. She was going to have to ask for it.

"There's a great Middle Eastern kebab stand near where I live. We could grab some take-out there and go to my place – to eat." Chloe was going to see exactly what Detective Andy Flynn had in mind. Something about him piqued her curiosity, and she was determined to satisfy it.

It wasn't the first late night Andy Flynn could recall, and he figured it wouldn't be his last, either. As looked in the mirror and knotted his tie, he grinned a little thinking about the night before. Chloe Duncan was something of a wildcat, and it had been very, very late when he finally kissed her good-night and came home. She had given him her number and said she wanted him to call her again. He thought he would. She was attractive and hot in the sack. It might be fun – for a while, anyway.


	2. Chapter 1: Blackout

**A/N:** Well, I said I'd been working on it, so I do have quite a bit finished, already. Hope you're liking it! Please, R&R!

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Blackout<strong>

_July, 2000_

Andy came suddenly awake. He was nauseated, had a killer headache and his mouth felt like cotton wool. So he was hung over. Nothing new about that. But he looked around. He didn't know where he was. It looked like a hotel room, but he had no idea where. Slowly, he sat up. He looked on the nightstand by the bed and saw the usual pen and scratch pad. He was at a Comfort Inn. But where? He rubbed his bleary eyes and looked on the phone. Oh –there was the address. Pasadena! What the hell was he doing in freaking Pasadena? He was over an hour from home!

Andy got up and checked his pants pocket for his pager. No calls. That meant Chloe probably hadn't come home the night before, either. The display also told him it was Saturday morning. Frantically, he tried to remember what had happened last night. Not much was coming up. He remembered coming out of Parker Center, getting into his car and going home. His buddy, Sgt. Fallon, picked him up from there and they went to Tucker's place in Hollywood. Then? Nothing. He knew he started with beer and switched to bourbon, because he always did, but after that, nada. He'd lost a couple of hours before, but never a whole night.

At that point, a cute redhead came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. "Hi, Detective," she said. "I guess it's time to settle up, huh?"

"I guess so," he answered warily.

"Let's see. I think $300 was what we agreed on, right?"

Andy actually had no idea, but he did know girls like her. "I thought it was $200 and I'll throw in an extra $50 if you say you never saw me." He took the bills from his wallet and handed them to her.

"Well, that much I hoped would have slipped your mind, but all right." She left a card on the nightstand. "But if you need some – company – again some night, give me a call." She went to him and stroked his hair. "For you, Andy, I guarantee I'll be available. My name's on the card, but remember to ask for Autumn. Have a good one."

"Yeah. You too." The woman left and Andy lay back on the bed. So he had gotten drunk, blacked out and dropped $250 on a hooker in a Pasadena motel. Oh, God. What else was he going to find out he'd done? Maybe it was time he started going easier on the booze. He found Fallon's number and called him. "Dude, can you come pick me up? How the hell did I get to Pasadena, anyway?"

"Yeah, I'll be there," the man said. "You don't remember Autumn? Tucker called the escort service for you. And I was lookin' forward to getting all the details from you. You musta' really been hammered."

"Must have. Has Chloe called you?"

"Nah. She probably hasn't come home yet."

"I hope to God she hasn't."

"Hey. If she can't make it home, why give you hell because you didn't either?"

"You answer that one for me, man."

"I'm on my way."

Andy hung up the phone. His stomach, already on the verge of revolution, burst into violent rebellion and he was sick in the bathroom. He couldn't even remember the last time he ate, which is probably why the dry heaves set in so quickly. There was nothing left. He showered, which made him feel a little more human, dressed and checked out of the motel. He sat in the lobby until Fallon showed up.

"Thanks for coming out here, Sam," Andy said. "I appreciate it." At least Sam had enough sense to keep quiet in the face of Andy's monstrous hangover. He stopped and grabbed a soda for his friend, which Andy sipped on the way home.

Chloe's car was not in the driveway when they arrived, and Andy sighed in relief. "Glad to see that," he said. "Now I can just go to bed."

"Get something to eat when you think it'll stay down," Fallon advised.

"I will." Andy went inside the house. Obviously, no one had been there since he left the night before. Worked for him. He made his way upstairs to the bedroom, closed the blinds and drapes and undressed. With a sigh of relief, he collapsed into bed.

He woke up a couple of hours later, feeling a little better, and went downstairs. Chloe was home. And her agent was with her. Oh joy. They were drinking mimosas. It was a drink Andy normally despised, but today, it actually sounded pretty good. He poured himself a glass.

"Starting early, aren't you, Andy darling?" Chloe said shrewishly.

"Aren't you?" he replied, his tongue sharpened by his rough night.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Excuse my husband, Everett. He's one of those Irish cops you've heard about. Can't do a thing with him until he's had a drink."

Andy stood in the den, staring at Everett until the man squirmed under his scrutiny. "Um Chloe, we can discuss this later. I think I need to be on my way."

"No need to rush off!" she exclaimed. "Andy won't hurt you. He's too protective of that precious badge to do anything really stupid."

_Except pay $250 for a whore_, Andy thought ruefully. And wouldn't Chloe love to know that little tidbit of information? At least he had paid in cash.

Everett took another look at Chloe's husband and decided he didn't want to piss this guy off. "Oh no. I need to go. I will call you, though, after I've talked to the PR rep."

"All right. If you have to go… I'll be in touch."

"Fine, fine," the man said, easing out of the house under Andy's cold gaze.

When he was gone, Chloe whirled on Andy. "What do you think you were doing? He's my agent!"

"Where were you last night?" O.K. Andy admitted he was a hypocrite for asking, since he hadn't come home, either.

"What's it to you?" she snapped.

"I'm just your husband, that's all," he replied.

"Since it's 20 Questions, then where were _you_?"

"Tucker's place with Fallon." After that, he had no idea, until he woke up in Pasadena.

"Where else?"

Andy shrugged.

Chloe sneered at him. "Don't want to tell me or don't remember?"

"Take your pick," he said. Both were true, actually.

"Bastard. I was at an important party, for your information, making new contacts and furthering my career."

"I see," was all he said. He had a feeling he knew what kinds of "contacts" she was making. He made a mental note to check the condom supply, just in case she decided she wanted to sleep with _him_ for a change. God knows he didn't want anything she might have "picked up" along the way.

"Why the hell did I marry you, anyway?" she snapped.

Andy shook his head. "I have no idea. It wasn't because you loved me, that's for damn sure."

Chloe started to slap him. Andy blocked her arm, and took her wrist. He lowered it to her side, but gently. "Don't do that, Chloe."

"Coward," she spat.

Andy nodded slowly. "Yeah. I may be a coward," he said quietly. "That may be exactly what I am. But I'm a coward who's never hit a woman and I never will. And you'd better be glad I'm that kind of man. Another guy would have beat the hell out of you by now."

"You're just a lousy drunk!"

"Guilty as charged," he answered softly, going into the kitchen.

But Chloe couldn't leave it alone. She followed him. "I don't know why you drink so much. I mean, it's not like you've got some baby factory to come home to who's lost her looks. Like your first wife."

"Leave Sheila out of this. It's not true, anyway." He devoutly wished Chloe would shut up. He was close to the edge of his badly eroded self-control. He changed his mind about drinking the mimosa and poured it down the sink. He found some apple juice in the refrigerator and shotgunned the rest of the container. He thought that would stay down.

She rolled her eyes. "You always defend her. Why is that, I wonder?"

"Maybe it's because she's a good person and the mother of my kids," Andy answered, as he threw the empty bottle in the garbage.

"Nyahh, nyahh. How did I get mixed up with you?"

"I guess that's what you get when you meet somebody in a bar." If only she would shut up. He started upstairs, but she followed anyway.

"Don't you walk away from me! We're talking."

"We're not talking. We're fighting. Big difference."

"What's the matter, Andy? Big cop like you can't deal with his wife? You can't face it that you married way out of your league? When we go out, _I'm_ the one people are looking at and you can't stand it."

He wasn't going to rise to the bait. If he did, he would certainly regret it. "Shut up, Chloe. I'm warning you."

She knew she might trigger an explosion, but she didn't really care. "Hit a nerve, huh? I swear, why did I marry a stupid Irish cop? The only thing you're good for is in the sack, and I don't know that you're anywhere close to being that great." That was a flat-out lie and she knew it, but it was one chink in Andy's armor.

They were on the landing and he turned and moved toward her, menacingly. Chloe knew – or thought she knew – he would never hit her, but it had been a long while since she had seen him this angry, and she had forgotten how scary he could be. She tried to brave it out and stood her ground.

Andy put his hands on her shoulders and backed her against the wall. "I'm a lot of things, Chloe, but I'm not stupid. And if you don't want to sleep with me again, that's your decision. I can live with it." His voice was still quiet, but carried the tone that made her blood run cold. "But don't bring your boyfriends here. I won't lay a hand on you, but I will beat the shit out of them. And before long, word's gonna get around that your nutcase cop of a husband walks the around the house with a baseball bat, waiting to put somebody in the hospital. And then, nobody's gonna get within ten feet of you. Which is what you deserve, you narcissistic bitch."

"I hate you."

Andy shook his head. "At this point, I don't even care. Hate me if you want to. But I'm warning you, Chloe, so hear me. If any of your boy toys come into this house, they leave in an ambulance – or a hearse. Got it?"

"Get away from me, you thug."

Andy would never hurt Chloe, but, and especially in his present condition, he didn't mind scaring the crap out of her. He moved his hands from her shoulders to her neck, his thumbs resting just at her larynx. He tightened his hands ever so slightly and her face went white.

"Be careful, Chloe," was all he said. He dropped his hands, went into the guest bedroom and locked the door.

Chloe watched him go and put a hand to her throat. She didn't _really_ think Andy would ever follow through with it, but if he got drunk enough... Even she had enough sense to realize that baiting him like that could be dangerous. Andy in a raging temper was a fearsome thing. She remembered when he threw the coffee table through the den wall and shuddered.

Andy stumbled into the bathroom off the guest room for some water and a cold cloth. That set-to had triggered a massive migraine. He found his migraine meds in the bathroom cabinet and took a dose. Choking the life out of Chloe Duncan would no doubt have made the world a better place, but for all his faults, Andy wasn't a killer, or a woman-beater. But he had been honest when he said he would beat the crap out of a boyfriend, if she brought him home. And he hoped putting his hands around her throat had scared her sufficiently that she would at least stay out of his way for a while.

He wanted to leave, but didn't think he had it in him to go through the divorce funhouse at this point. Not again. If they could just work it out to live essentially separate lives and stay out of each other's way, maybe they could manage for a while. At least until Andy could find an apartment and leave. Something inside him wanted to try to make it work with her, but he wasn't sure anything would help.


	3. Chapter 2: Busted

**A/N:** So what happened after Andy and Chloe had their blowup? Read on! Please, R&R!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Busted<strong>

Captain Taylor came into the squad room and saw Flynn at his computer. He was on time, and appeared to be working, but looked like death warmed over. Something was going on with his detective, and Taylor thought he knew what it was. He knew Andy drank, but he wasn't certain how much. But this looked a hell of a lot like a bad hangover to Taylor.

He motioned to Andy, "Flynn, see me."

Andy slowly got up and went into his captain's office. Taylor shut the door. "Sit down, Andy."

"What's up, Cap?" Andy said. His voice was a little hoarse, and he was acting like the light hurt his eyes.

"What's going on with you, Flynn? You look like hell this morning."

"Migraine, Cap. That's all."

Taylor looked shrewdly at the detective. He knew Flynn was prone to the occasional migraine, but he had a strong feeling there was a lot more happening here. "Detective, you may have a migraine, but I think it's coupled with a hangover."

Flynn narrowed his eyes at his captain. "Nah, nah. These damn headaches just make me look hungover. I haven't had a drink since Friday night."

"I thought you had some medication you could take for them."

"I do, but it makes me feel weird."

Taylor nodded. "I see." He went around his desk and sat on the edge in front of Andy. "Detective, you can't do your job like this."

"I'm O.K., Cap. I feel like hell, but I can make it."

"Andy, you're barely able to sit up by yourself. How did you make it to work this morning?"

"Sam Fallon brought me."

"Well, at least you've got sense enough not to drive." Taylor leaned in towards Andy and caught the faintest whiff of bourbon. "Detective, you are lying to me and that pisses me off. _Really_ pisses me off."

"Lyin' about what, Cap?" Andy's head was pounding and the light was killing his eyes.

"About not drinking. I can smell it on you. Don't insult me by trying to deny it. You may not be strictly drunk, but you've sure as hell been drinking. You've been coming to work, you've been mostly doing your job, but right now, you've got a migraine and you've been drinking to kill the pain. In fact, you've probably been drinking a lot more than that. You know it and I know it. I'm betting you probably drank a lot last night and that's not helping, either."

"C'mon, Cap. You don't know how bad it hurts," Andy said.

"No, I've never had a headache like that, but booze doesn't help it, and you know it." He took a deep breath. "Andy, look. I'm speaking not just as your superior officer, but as your friend. You're a damn good detective and I cannot lose you and have the same caliber department. I am ordering you to get help. You can see your own doctor and get counseling or go to Alcoholics Anonymous, or however you need to handle it. But you've got to deal with it. Right now, because you haven't been missing work, or coming in wasted, we can keep it in this office, and I'll never say a word, and I won't file any reprimands. As long as you get some help, that's how we'll handle this. BUT, you must get some help and bring me the documentation that you did. Otherwise, I have no choice but to send you home on leave without pay and start termination proceedings. You've got fifteen years on the force, Andy. You don't want to throw all that away. Please, for God's sake, get some help."

As awful as he felt, Taylor's words were sandpaper on Andy's brain. But he acknowledged his captain had a point. He nodded. "O.K. I'll do it. I'll get some help, somewhere."

Taylor said, "That's what I want to hear. But remember: bring me some documentation. Oh, and I'll be calling you in at random times for a breathalyzer test. Just in here, no one else, but that's the deal."

"All right," Andy said quietly. He knew he was flat-footed busted and there was no use trying to squirm out of it.

"I'll have Lieutenant Provenza drive you home. To the rest of the squad, it's a migraine, and that's all. That's enough to send you home, and it explains why you look like death on a cracker. If you tell Provenza, that's on you. But I can tell you he'll take it to his grave if you want to talk to him."

"I don't feel like talkin' to anybody. I just want to go some place where it's dark and quiet," Andy replied.

"Whatever. As long as you get the help," Taylor said. He motioned Provenza into his office. "Lieutenant Provenza, Detective Flynn has a killer migraine this morning. Could you please drive him home so he can take his meds and lie down?"

"Sure thing, Cap. C'mon, Flynn. I thought you looked like hell this morning, anyway."

"Thanks, Lieutenant." Andy immediately put on his sunglasses and sighed in relief as the glare dimmed.

As they got in Provenza's car, Andy leaned his head back and Provenza turned the air-conditioning on. The cool air was heavenly.

"Flynn, how often do you get these migraines, anyway?"

"It depends," Andy croaked. "I've had 'em since I was in high school. Stress makes them worse. And it's been hell at home, so I'm not surprised I got one. I've been fighting it since Saturday morning."

"Bourbon doesn't help though, does it?" Provenza said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, moron, that in a confined space, I can smell the booze. You had a snort or two before you came to work, didn't you?"

"None of your business," Andy snapped.

"I can smell it, so it's my business. I won't say anything. But if you're drinking before work, and after too, it's time to get help."

"Taylor already read me that speech, all right? I said I would, so lay off. I can't tell you how bad this hurts."

They were stopped at a light and Provenza looked over at Andy. He had one arm over his eyes and the lieutenant could see Flynn had broken into a heavy sweat. Provenza was no doctor, but this looked serious to him. "Flynn, you all right?"

"Yeah. What time is it, anyway?"

"A little after nine."

"Oh my God. I'm late for work. Taylor's gonna kill me if I'm late."

Provenza's eyes widened. This was obviously bad. Flynn was delirious or something. He thought quickly. "We're on the way, now, Flynn. I called Taylor. He said it was all right."

"O.K. Thanks." Andy sat back in the seat, mumbling to himself. Now Provenza was really concerned.

He turned the car towards the nearest hospital, Good Samaritan, and got on his radio. "Dispatch, this is Lieutenant Provenza, homicide. Patch me through to the ER at Good Samaritan. I've got an officer with a medical emergency."

"10-4, Lieutenant," the dispatcher said.

A moment later, "Good Samaritan. What is your emergency?"

"I have a police officer, male, late forties, with a severe migraine. He is sweating profusely and is confused and disoriented."

"When did the migraine begin?"

"Saturday, he told me," Provenza answered. "He is incoherent at this time and agitated."

"All right, Lieutenant. What is your ETA to our location?"

Provenza turned on his lights and siren. "About two minutes, Good Samaritan."

"We will meet you at the ambulance entrance, Lieutenant."

"10-4. See you there. LAPD unit 50 clear." He looked over at Andy, who was absently rubbing his head and grimacing in pain. "Hang on, Andy. Help's on the way." He floored the Crown Vic's big V8 engine and roared down the street, running red lights and weaving in and out of the heavy downtown traffic. The car screamed into the ambulance bay and the double doors opened almost immediately. Provenza ran around to the passenger side and opened the door. A nurse and a tech met him and Provenza said, "He's been incoherent for about five minutes. I was taking him home because of his headache."

The nurse nodded. "Do you know anything about his medical history?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "No, unfortunately. We work together. I just know he gets bad migraines from time to time."

"All right. What's his name?"

"Andy Flynn," Provenza answered.

The woman knelt beside Andy. "Andy? Hey, Andy? Can you hear me?"

He winced. "Yeah, I hear you. Stop screaming, willya?"

She smiled. "Sorry about that. Andy, where are you?"

He looked around. "Hell if I know. Pittsburgh?"

"O.K. We need to get you inside. Can we do that?"

Andy looked at the woman. "Sure, beautiful. I'll follow you anywhere."

"Glad to hear it," the nurse said, shaking her head. She had a suspicion that when this man was in his right mind, he was something of a lady killer. She motioned to the orderly. "Get some help. He's a big guy and we need to get him on a gurney."

Two men came back with a gurney and they lowered it so someone could sit on it easily.

The nurse had unbuckled Andy's seat belt and took his hand. "Come on, Andy. Sit right here for me, all right?"

He rose to unsteady feet and the orderly helped him sit on the gurney. "Now lie back," said the nurse, and Andy obediently put his head back. The orderlies raised the gurney and one moved to take his sunglasses.

"No, leave them right now," the nurse said. "He's probably photosensitive and they're shading his eyes and keeping him calm." She looked Andy over. "He could do some damage if he gets really agitated." They wheeled him inside the ER and took him to a cubicle. The nurse said, "Hey Andy, can I take your coat off? We need to get a blood pressure reading on you."

"Sure, whatever," he answered.

The nurse helped him with his coat and said, "Listen, why don't I just get your shirt, too? It's soaked through with sweat." She started loosening his tie and removed it, then his shirt. Provenza stood in the doorway, watching anxiously.

"Do I need to call anyone?" he asked.

"Andy, can the lieutenant call anyone for you? We could use a medical history on you." She noticed his ring. "Can he call your wife?"

"Oh hell, no. She doesn't know anything about me. Call Sheila," he said.

"Sheila?" the nurse asked, looking at Provenza.

"His first wife," the lieutenant answered.

"I see," the nurse said. "O.K. Andy. I know you're hurting, but can you answer a few questions for me?" she said, as she got his vital signs and wrote them on a chart.

"Like what?"

"Basic things. Have you taken any medication for your migraines in the past 24 hours?"

"Dose this morning, about four," he said, and named his medication.

"All right. That's good," the nurse, Lisa, answered. She leaned over him to put on the blood pressure cuff and smelled something. She wrinkled her brow and picked up Andy's shirt. Its scent confirmed her suspicious. "Andy, have you been drinking today?"

He grimaced. "Aw, come on lady. Not you, too. Yeah, I had a couple this morning to kill the pain."

Lisa shook her head. "Andy, mixing alcohol with the medication you're taking is very dangerous. It probably caused this reaction. But you're also dehydrated, which the alcohol didn't help. When was the last time you ate or drank something besides alcohol?"

"I have no clue. Stop with the lecture, O.K? My head feels like its gonna explode."

She sighed as she got his blood pressure reading. She removed the cuff and said, "Fine. Let me get the doctor in here to see you, and we'll try to reduce the pain a little." She turned to wet a cloth at the sink in the room. "Take your sunglasses off and put this over your eyes. It'll help with the pain."

Andy took the cloth and removed his sunglasses. "Thanks. I appreciate it," he said.

"You're welcome." Lisa walked outside, wondering for the zillionth time since she became a nurse why people thought they could mix alcohol with their medications. It never worked. She rubbed her eyes.

"Dr. Falcone," she said, speaking to the ER doc on shift. "Can you see about the guy in Treatment 3? He's got a migraine, took his meds, and then, a couple of hours later, had a few drinks. Now he's confused, dizzy, agitated, the usual. Also dehydrated. His chart's outside the door."

"Sure, Lisa." The doctor went to the room and looked over the chart. She went inside. "Mr. Flynn? I'm Dr. Candace Falcone, ER physician here at Good Samaritan. I see from your chart you mixed your migraine meds with some alcohol. What happened?"

"Don't know," Andy answered. "Just ended up here. I was at work this morning."

"I see. Well, surely you know that mixing alcohol with medication is dangerous."

"I didn't take it together," Andy said.

"No, but your migraine medication was already well-established in your bloodstream when the alcohol hit it. You could have died. People have died from that mixture."

Andy sighed. "O.K. Doc. I know it was stupid, all right? But I was hurting."

"That's generally why people do it. The meds aren't relieving the pain. If that's the case, then it's time to see your family doctor and get a referral to a migraine specialist."

"No time for that crap," Andy slurred.

"Mr. Flynn, do you make a habit of drinking in the mornings?"

"Not usually. Once in a while during the week. Some on weekends," he answered.

She shook her head. "Then you have the makings of a big problem. You need to consider getting some help for that."

"Heard that already today." The pain was testing Andy's always chancy temper. "Told my captain I'd get some help. I will."

Dr. Falcone didn't like Andy's tone one bit, but said, "You're a police officer? All right then. We'll get something for your pain, but I'm going to admit you for 24 hours for observation."

"Doc, just send me home. I just want to be where it's dark and quiet, all right?"

"If I thought you'd go home and lie down in the dark, I would. But what I'm afraid you'll do is go to bed with a bottle next to you. I want you where people can keep an eye on you, plus you need fluids. You're pretty dried out. And I'll be glad to call your captain and have him order you to stay. You're going upstairs in about thirty minutes and you're staying there until this time tomorrow. Tell your partner to make any necessary phone calls for you. I'll make sure you get a private room, and I'll instruct the nurses to keep your room dim and quiet, and to disturb you as little as possible, but I'm admitting you and that's it." She left the room and Provenza came in.

"Andy, I called Chloe, just to tell her where you are. And I called Sheila. I heard the doc say she's admitting you."

"Yeah. She's afraid I'll misbehave if I go home." Andy's tone was dangerously sarcastic.

"Well, we don't want something bad to happen to you," Provenza said with surprising tact, not wanting to set off his famously volatile colleague. A pissed-off Andy Flynn was bad enough, but one who was pissed off and not quite in his right mind could be a disaster.

* * *

><p>Andy had been in his room for a couple of hours. It was pretty dark, which made him feel better, and it was fairly quiet. He was at the end of the hall, on the opposite end from the nurses' station. A tech had been in to draw blood and start him on IV fluids, but that was it. A soft knock sounded.<p>

"Come in," Andy said.

An attractive woman entered the room. She had dark auburn hair and blue eyes. Sheila Hartford saw her ex-husband lying in the darkened room. She approached him and even in the dim light, could see some changes that disturbed her. It had been a while since she had really looked at Andy. Their interactions had mostly been limited to him picking up and dropping off the kids. But she could see now that Andy wasn't in good shape. He had put on some weight in the past year or so, and his face was a little puffy. It worried her – a lot.

Sheila shook her head. Andy's drinking and its effect on his temper were what really drove them apart, anyway. But she still cared a great deal for this man. He was the father of her children, and he was still a good guy. He was just a good guy with a bad problem. She wished she had pushed him harder to get help when they were still married, but that was water under the bridge, she supposed.

Sheila touched Andy's hand. "Hey there," she said softly.

A ghost of a smile crossed his features. "Hi. Thanks for coming by."

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Maybe. Now that it's dark and mostly quiet."

"I talked to Provenza. He said you had been drinking after you took your meds."

"Don't start."

Sheila sighed. "Andy, I'm worried about you. You know I still care about you."

"I know you do. I still care about you, too. But I'm fine."

"No you're not fine. You have a problem."

"Maybe I do, but my head's hurting like hell and I don't really feel like having this discussion right now."

She shook her head. "O.K. Bad timing. But when you feel better, we're having this discussion. You can bet on it."

"Fine, whatever." Andy's tone indicated he had no intention of saying another word about it.

Stubborn, pig-headed... Sometimes Sheila wondered what she ever saw in Andrew Flynn. "All right. Is there anything you need? By the way, where's Chloe?"

"Don't know, don't care. I'd way rather have you here."

"Ever charming. But do you need anything?"

"Nothing I can think of. Thanks, though."

"You're welcome, Andy." She squeezed his hand. As she did, she looked at his hands and remembered with a sudden flush of heat exactly what she saw in Andy. He always had been the sexiest thing she had ever seen, and if their relationship could have thrived strictly on the physical, they'd still be together. He could be so thoughtful, and had a surprising romantic streak she never thought she'd see in a boy from their neighborhood. Then, there was the drunk version. Oh, her dad had been a drinker, too. So had Andy's, for that matter. She thought she knew how to handle it. But when Andy's temper got the better of him, he could be downright scary. Not that he had ever touched her. And he didn't even insult her or do those things that she knew her dad did to her mom. But there was still no living with him when he was drinking. He never hit her, but didn't mind punching a hole in the wall. And the self-loathing was equally disturbing. "Go ahead and leave me. I deserve it. I'm nothing but a drunk, anyway," he would say. She knew he had blown up at his colleagues while hung over, but they tended to blow it off, as long as he didn't come in when he was actually drunk. And as far as Sheila knew, he never had. Until this morning.

Sheila sat in the chair next to the bed, still holding Andy's hand. She just looked at him. He opened his eyes. "What is it?" he asked.

"I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"I'm stressed out, Sheila. Work, Chloe, it's been too much lately."

"What's she done now?"

"Same ol', same old. I don't make enough money to keep her in champagne and diamonds. Among other things."

"Andy, I'm sorry. You know I want to see you happy. But you know what I told you about her to begin with."

He shrugged. "Yeah, you told me. Maybe we can work things out, though."

Sheila raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to, or ought to?"

"I have to give it a shot," he answered.

"I know," she sighed. She checked her watch. "I'm here on my lunch break. I have to go back to work, but I wanted to stop in to see you. Let me know how you're doing, all right?"

"I will, Sheila. Thanks."

Sheila leaned over to kiss Andy's cheek. He turned his head to catch her lips. He brought his hand up to her cheek and deepened the kiss.

Oh, had that ever been a bad idea. Sheila loved her current husband, Richard, but she had forgotten how sinfully sweet Andy's kisses were. Or had forced herself not to remember. There was always combustion waiting to burst into flame when Andy was around. He'd always had that effect on her, even when they were kids in Jersey and he caught her behind the bleachers one spring afternoon after school. He could kiss then and now, it was only better.

She pulled away. "Don't do that," she said.

"Sorry," he answered, but the twinkle in his eyes and his wry grin were unrepentant. When he looked at her like that, he looked like the boy she married and it did strange things to her mental equilibrium.

"No, you're not sorry. But I guess I asked for it. I know better than to get that close to you."

"Have a good day, Sheila," was all he said.

"Hope you feel better, Andy," she answered and walked out of the room.

Andy knew in his heart that he and Sheila would never get back together, but he wasn't above reminding her what she was missing once in a while.

* * *

><p>Except for Provenza, who came in when his shift ended, Andy had been left alone for the day, until his own doctor came by.<p>

He was dozing and woke up with a touch on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Steve Chandler, his doctor. "What's going on, Steve?" he said.

"You look like hell, Andy," was the doctor's short answer.

"Feel like it, too. Or I did. Now I just feel like death warmed over – not actual hell."

Steve shook his head and sat down next to Andy's bed. "Andy, I've been your doctor ever since you came to L.A. I want to do whatever I can for you. Dr. Falcone in the ER said you told her you were going to get some help. I'm glad. What can I do to help you do that?"

"I dunno, Steve. Refer me to a shrink? What do people do when they do this?"

The doctor flipped through Andy's chart. "I'd like you to see someone for an initial consultation, but I think Alcoholics Anonymous is the route you need to take. I brought a list of their meetings in L.A. County. I'll leave it by the phone. You can take a look at it."

"C'mon, Steve," Andy said. "I'll admit maybe I've got a drinking problem, but you really think I'm an alcoholic?"

The doctor looked keenly at Andy. "From a medical standpoint, there isn't much of a distinction." He picked up the chart. "Andy, since you've been in L.A., your weight hasn't fluctuated more than five or ten pounds or so in either direction, depending on when you had your physical. Until the past year. Did you know you've gained 35 pounds since I saw you last? Your bloodwork is a wreck. Your cholesterol is through the roof, your triglycerides are elevated. Your blood sugar is normal, so that's a blessing, but what really worries me is that your liver enzymes are out of kilter. Your liver isn't functioning as well as it should. And that puts a strain on your heart and your kidneys, too. Oh — and your blood pressure was elevated when the nurse took it an hour ago. So you tell me there's not a problem, somewhere. The good news is that you're still pretty young. If you get a handle on this thing now, you can reverse all this within six months or a year. So, I'm putting you on blood pressure and cholesterol meds. Other than that, I'm telling you to revamp your diet and eat healthier, get some exercise and stop drinking."

"Stop drinking?" Andy echoed.

"Stop. Don't just cut down. Stop. Period. You're developing the classic, textbook symptoms of alcoholism, from a clinical standpoint. I'll do anything I can to help you, but the bottom line is you have to stop drinking."

Andy wrinkled his nose. "Well, one reason I'm your patient is because you're straight with me. No bullcrap."

Steve smiled. "That's the way I always want to be. I'm not much of a doctor, otherwise. You'll have your scrips when you're released tomorrow, along with a card for a good psychiatrist who specializes in substance abuse issues. He'll be able to work you in quickly. So you get to work and get this under control, all right?"

Andy nodded. "O.K. doc. I'll do my best."

"That's all I'm asking of you. Get some sleep. I'll order the nurses to stay out of here overnight."

"Unless that cute brunette wants to keep me company. Could you prescribe her?" Andy said.

"You're feeling better," Steve chuckled. "I'm glad." He turned serious. "But I meant every word I said, Andy. I meant it."

"I know, Steve. I appreciate it."

Dr. Chandler patted Andy's shoulder and left the room.


End file.
